Page 24 of Stolen Christmas
“You’re telling me.” Smirking, I head into the bathroom to wash up. After a quick clean-up, I come to tend to her, only to find her asleep on the sofa, looking so exhausted and yet so lovely. The warm towel against her pussy barely disturbs my sleeping beauty. “What are you doing?” she murmurs.
“Just cleaning you up a little. Rest.” I toss the towel and then lift my bride-to-be off the sofa and carry her to bed, deftly tucking her under the covers. My phone vibrates again, and I’m about to shoot the bastard on the other end, but I understand it’s important. Looking down, I see a pretty dark red ring on her finger. A burning pang of anger fills my stomach. Who gave this to her? I slide the ring off Angel’s finger for research purposes, and then I kiss her cheek. “Sleep well. I’ll be back later.”
I contacted the jeweler who my father prefers and demanded a last-minute job. When we met at his establishment which he graciously opened for me, I said, “I’d like this ring sized to this.” I point to his spectacular diamond ring collection and admire the perfect piece.
“That’s quite easy. It’s already the same size. No modifications needed.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.” He demonstrates on his ring measuring stick, and they are exactly a size seven. I pay for the engagement ring and then pocket both rings.
I send him on his way and then I go to attend to my next piece of business. “Boss, he’s here like you said he would be.”
“I’m on my way.” I’m already in the car with several men and I make a call to the asshole’s boss.
There is no way he’s getting away with infringing on my rights after everything just because I’m fucking the woman he wants. I pull up quietly and then enter with my lights off. We slide through the private door and then call out, “Is there something I can help you with, Officer Fields?”
“What are these?” He grabs the new product from the docks.
“Are you here with a warrant?” I ask the prick, who shouldn’t be lurking anywhere near my properties.
“No, but I can come back with one.”
“No, you can’t because you’re not on duty, you lousy piece of shit. We both know my men caught you here, snooping for your boss. I’m not sure if you’re stupid or too damn arrogant. It’s as if you think you’re untouchable.”
“I am.”
“What makes you think that I can’t destroy you?”
“I made sure everyone is aware that you and I are enemies. Something happens to me, and you’re their number one suspect.”
“Yes, but breaking and entering is still a crime. Enjoy.” The squad cars can be heard and the doors open.
“What the hell?”
“Hello, Chief Mendez. It seems one of your little puppies thinks he has the right to enter my properties without a warrant and without motive.”
“Fields, you’re suspended.”
“What?”
“Yes, you violated Mr. D’Antonio’s rights.”
“He’s a thug.”
“You should look in the mirror when you say that,” I say. “Get the fuck off my property. I’d like to file a formal complaint for harassment, Chief. If I see him around me again, I might have my guards see that as a threat to my safety.”
“No need to resort to that, Mr. D’Antonio, because Officer Fields will keep his distance. Isn’t that correct?”
With hesitation, he mutters, “Yes, it is.”
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to be getting home. It’s a busy week for those of us who still have to work.” I wink at the asshole and wait for them to get off my property, and then I tell my men to sweep the entire building to look for any signs of a trace, wiretapping, or trackers.
Using sophisticated tools, they are able to locate two devices and move them to a different location for our personal enjoyment. Then, they all go to their respective homes, while I have one more mission to handle.
I have her keys and ID. Time to learn a little about the future Mrs. D’Antonio in my bed. I drive to the south side and enter the small house and turn on the lights. It’s clean and feels like home. There’s a family photo in the front room, showing the family that she lost not long ago. Every room I enter is filled with little bits of her personality. Her pink sweater lying over the edge of the kitchen chair, discarded halfheartedly, has a sweet vanilla scent. The dishes aren’t done, which can be a problem. I need to hire a maid service to clean tomorrow.
I open the fridge and see what she likes to eat. Interesting—there are some containers with leftovers and some cans of pop and water with a gallon of milk, chocolate syrup, salad mix, dressing, eggs, and general condiments. I close the door and hunt for her bedroom. I found his first, and I’m actually surprised that it’s not the hovel that I expected it to be.
